


I Meant Kick

by WarpedChyld



Series: A Dog's Life [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Fluff, Frottage, Hannibal being a pretentious ass, M/M, Mild Cursing, Rimming, Table Sex, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarpedChyld/pseuds/WarpedChyld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has a Freudian slip of the tongue.</p><p>Based on a prompt from my Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Meant Kick

**Author's Note:**

> A Precious Nonny prompted
> 
> “But like what if Will and Hannibal we arguing about something about a dinner party and Will shouts "I'm gonna lick your ass" and they both stop to laugh then have furious sex. You see where I'm going with this”
> 
> Not Beta'd cept for myself so please point out any mistakes. Enjoy.

The first time they were going to have sex, it was going to be perfect. Hannibal had it all planned out. He had dreamed of it for longer than he cared to think about and in that time had built the perfect scenario. Candles. There would be candles definitely. Two, at first, for their table, set with the finest linens and china and the sterling silver utensils that had been in his family for eight generations. He had a painstakingly planned twenty-one course menu made entirely of the rude they had hunted together. No dish was going to be more than 3 bites; enough to tease,but not satisfy or fill till everything had been sampled.  Ortolans would be one of the courses and Hannibal already had some on reserve; they would be available the second Will made himself available.

Once their meal was finished, Hannibal would bathe Will in a claw footed tub. He had several soaps picked out; one for the face, gentle on skin in regards to the scar there, it’s scent mild. One for the body, a bit stronger, the scent masculine, subtle yet present. The tub would be filled with water from Lourdes and symbolically wash away all sin, leave Will pure, cleansed, ripe for defilement.  If Hannibal’s hands wandered, teasing and touching, priming Will until the other man shuddered and whimpered, well it was only fitting. After all, Will had been teasing and priming him for years.

After, he would lead Will to their bedroom, lit only with moonlight and a hundred or so candles. Maybe. Hannibal could never decide if he wanted pure moonlight only or candles to enhance it. He supposed it would depend on how full the moon was. Regardless, he had a stockpile of candles ready and waiting. The sheets would the finest material, a rich, deep red to perfectly offset Will’s complexion.  Spread on them, flushed from the bath, the teasing touches, hands resting by his head, Hannibal would feast his eyes, caress Will with his gaze until he was momentarily sated enough for the next step.

Hannibal would bring out oils he had made himself, rare, hard to find, the best. Infused with herbs he knew would compliment Will’s natural scent. He would have Will lay on his back, straddle him, pour the oils over Will and work down his body, resuming the teasing touches but working his fingers deep into muscle, finding and eradicating all tension until Will was boneless and pliant as a newborn kitten. Then he would have Will turn over, or would turn him over if Will was too relaxed, and give the same treatment to his back.

Once Will was fully relaxed, almost, but not quite asleep, when all his defenses were down, Hannibal would make his move. He would grab his special bottle of oil, one he had spent weeks perfecting, infusing to be the perfect compliment to Will’s scent and taste. Especially his taste. Hannibal would part the firm, plush cheeks, brush his thumb, slick with the special oil over the puckered entrance. Gentle, careful brushes, a massage as thorough as the one given to the rest of Will’s body. Only when Will was pushing back would Hannibal breach him, just barely, just the tip, just to see how it would feel.

More oil would be poured, just enough to make him glisten and then the finger removed, to be replaced by Hannibal’s tongue. Man, woman, other, gender made no difference to Hannibal. He loved giving oral in all forms and to have his mouth on Will, on a place he knew no other had touched or tasted would be bliss. Ten minutes, twenty, an hour, Hannibal did not care how long, just so long as he got to taste Will fully, thoroughly, completely, leave the man a shuddering,sobbing wreck, his voice, his words, forgotten in favor of animalistic whimpers and growls.

Here Hannibal was unsure what would happen. Preferably Will would be so open, so relaxed and willing and hungry he would beg Hannibal to take him, to fill him. And oh, how Hannibal would. Fingers, more oil, making Will slick and loose so Hannibal could have him in one press, buried to the hilt and finally joined as one. Or perhaps Will would want to take Hannibal, fill him. Truthfully, Hannibal would enjoy that as much. Anything so long as he finally got to be one with Will.

Yes. It was all planned. All perfect. Hannibal just had to wait.

\-----------

The first time they were going to have sex was, according to Will, probably never. Or maybe next Tuesday after lunch.  Possibly Thursday before breakfast. Saturday during dinner? To be honest, Will never gave it much thought. Will never gave sex at all much thought these days. Not to say he didn’t think about it ever.  Will liked sex, enjoyed it, but it had never been a priority with him. Even as a teen when hormones were rampant, his social awkwardness, his ability to see had tended to dampen his libido. Sex and relationships had been few and far between and he had come to accept it.

Molly had been fun. Open and adventurous, always wanting it when Will wanted it and sometimes even when it was farthest from Will’s mind. She was easily able to bring it to the forefront of his mind and they had had a good sex life. They had had a good life and Will knew he could have been, if not happy, then content.

With Hannibal, here, in the life they had now, sex was, once again, the furthest thing from his mind. He knew Hannibal loved him, was in love with him, wanted him, in every way possible. He knew he loved Hannibal, was in love with him, wanted to be with him but...didn’t want to have sex with him...right? Will was straight. He had never looked at a guy and fantasized about being with him. At least nothing more than an abstract, curious way that he forgot almost as soon as he thought it.

Hannibal wasn’t a man though. Even as well as Will knew him, even after seeing him burn food, flub a recipe, trip and fall in a stream and lose a fishing rod, Will still had more days than not when he wondered if Hannibal was human. Will supposed he could be attracted to Hannibal, not because he was a man or something other than human, but because he was Hannibal, and he loved him.

Mostly thought, Will was too busy relaxing, recovering, still coming to terms with The Fall, The Dragon, everything that had happened before, during and after he met Hannibal. It was a time of peace and recovery he hadn’t ever allowed himself to have and he was so comfortable, so at peace that sex just seemed wholly unnecessary. If it happened, it happened. if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. Honestly he was more concerned with when, or if, Hannibal would kill again and when, or if, he would join him.  

Will’s plan was to just live, and relax and fish and take what happens, as it happens.

\-------------

There is a saying “If you want to make the gods laugh, tell them your plans.”  Neither of them really gave much thought to gods nowadays and neither had told any of their plans, or lack of plans such as it were.  Never let it be said the gods still don’t listen or have incredibly warped senses of humor.

Thus, the first time they actually do have sex was on a Sunday, at around 4:35pm, time noted only because of the way the sunlight was falling. They were in the dining room, Will soaking wet, Hannibal heavily damp and both glaring; Will at Hannibal and Hannibal at the mess of water and wet dog fur splattered over every surface courtesy of their dogs, Gaslight and Encephalitis.

Will had spent the better part of three hours bathing them after Hannibal had let them out and they had found a half rotted squirrel carcass to roll in. He had just given them their third and final wash, all trace of rot finally gone when Hannibal had opened the bathroom door and both dogs had barreled out to greet him and run around while still soaking wet.

Now they were outside, probably rolling in the carcass again, definitely in the dirt and Will was yelling at Hannibal for being careless, Hannibal was glaring and NOT yelling, just raising his voice a little and informing Will that “Will was in charge of training the beasts and it wasn't HIS fault Will had failed in that endeavor”.

Will had gaped, had glared, had clenched his fists and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Hannibal I am going to lick your ass!”

Both had frozen. Hannibal had smirked. Will had blushed and cursed. “Kick! Fuck I meant kick!” and then the next thing either knew they were pressed together, mouths fused, hands groping, pinching, grabbing, frantic. Will found himself heaved into the dining room table, Hannibal slotted between his legs, both gasping as they pressed together, aching, dripping and close.

Hannibal bit and licked at Will’s mouth, his neck. No expensive oils, no candles, no massage. Just the smell and taste of (expensive) dog shampoo, wet dog and Will, his sweet Will, burning with arousal, blue eyes nearly black with raw lust when looked at Hannibal and yanked him close, seeking his mouth again. Hannibal was only too happy to oblige and they rutted on a hand-crafted table covered with water and dog fur and neither cared.

Neither cared that the dogs were getting dirty again. Neither cared that this was not what either had planned, or not planned in Will’s case. Neither cared that damp clothes really were not the best thing to be grinding like teenagers in. All they cared about was the taste and touch of the other. All they cared about were Hannibal’s hands, usually so steady, fumbling with his belt and zipper before Will snarled and yanked them down, drawing a pained hiss from Hannibal as the damp cloth scraped over his cock, hard and throbbing. All they cared about was Hannibal laying Will down and ripping his boxers off.

After that, neither was in much state of mind to care about anything. It was all anger and passion and pent up longing and pent up everything. It was mouths meeting in frenzied kisses, legs wrapping around pounding hips. It was Will hissing as Hannibal’s weight bore down on him, pressing him to the unyielding wood and demanding more, harder. It was Hannibal obeying, thick cock rubbing against Will’s, both soon glistening and slick. It was nails pressed to skin,words lost to voice gone rough, soft, needy, demanding.

Hannibal had envisioned a night of pure artistry and seduction.  Will had envisioned nothing.  What they got was raw, desperate, fast. Messy, as between one thrust and the next pleasure blossomed phosphor white behind both their eyes and warmth spilled searing wet between their bodies. A sound to animal to be human yet too achingly human to be animal came from both of them, somewhere deep that only the other had ever touched, could ever have touched and brought forth and they stilled.

Hearts, breath, stopped for an eternity which passed in the blink of an eye and they inhaled, mouths still pressed together so they took the other’s air, giving and giving and taking and taking. Silence reigned, words not needed for once as they let themselves bask in the afterglow, in each other and themselves.

“I really did mean kick.” Will said, voice almost to low to hear but with an unmistakable note of mirth.

“Mmm...” Hannibal acknowledged as he nuzzled Will’s neck and nibbled the shell of his ear. “I would be amenable to either option.”

Will snorted and pushed at Hannibal who stubbornly remained pressed close. Will stopped pushing.  It might not have been what either had planned, but that was ok.

What they got was enough.

What they got was each other.

What they got, was perfection.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Post Here


End file.
